Thresholds
by ArtisticRainey
Summary: Raphael crosses some thresholds.


**Thresholds**

_By ArtisticRainey_

Disclaimer: TMNT are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended. This story was not written for profit.

***

Stitch, stitch, stitch, followed by another withering look. Stitch, stitch, stitch, followed by the tying off of the surgical thread and the snip of the finalising scissors. Raphael clenched and unclenched his fingers and gave his brother a grin.

"Thanks again," he said.

He stood up to avoid yet another withering gaze, and instead glanced down at his newly sutured forearm.

"Yeah, yeah, if looks could kill and all that," he said, waving one hand and turning away. "I'm goin' to bed."

Raphael heard the all-too-familiar sound of Donatello's medical kit closing. It was always the same: the thud of the lid closing, with the clack of the spring latches slamming into place: thump, thump. As he crossed the threshold there would be the sound of the case hitting the hard floor: thunk. Then it was either the swirl of Don's computer chair swivelling back towards the computer, or the softness of his brother crawling back into bed. It was fifty-fifty which one. Some mornings Don would still be working when Raph came home; others, he had to be awakened.

Raphael used to feel a choking knot of guilt in his throat when he came limping or stumbling back to the lair, seeing that Donatello's bedroom light was out and then the actual form of his brother curled up in bed. Now, though, he was convinced that Don wasn't even fully awake when he patched Raph back up. It was always the same methodical stitch, stitch, stitch or swab, swab, bandage: rhythmic, quiet, and quick.

Much like Don himself, Raph thought as he scrubbed at his face with one hand and turned to walk to his own room. Where Raphael was forceful, Donatello was agile. The attacker and the defender; the doer and the thinker. Sai and bo. Strength and stamina. Stamina and strength.

Patient and doctor. Raphael grinned. No matter how good you were, there were still going to be times when some little punk ass would graze you. Even someone as strong as himself or Donnie or Mikey. He pulled himself into his hammock, going easy on his stitched arm, and closed his eyes, quickly drifting off as usual to sleep the day away.

It was longer than usual before Raphael had cause to make a similar visit. When he arrived, Don already had the medical kit sitting on his bed. He motioned for Raphael to sit and swivelled his chair around, reaching for his brother's injured arm. It was the same wound. Raph had managed to tear part of it open again. He wondered briefly why Don didn't ask what had happened this time. It was the one and only question he ever asked during these night-time meetings. They were never discussed during the day.

Quick as ever Raph was patched up, and he gave his thanks. He walked a little slower as he exited the room. He heard the same clack, thump, thump, thunk, swivel as the last time. When re returned to his room, he didn't sleep as easily as before.

The next time, the kit was on the bed and open. Scissors, needles and catgut were sitting on a metal tray. Stitch, stitch, stitch, but no withering look. Stitch, stitch, stitch, snip. Thanks. Clack, thump, thump, thunk, swivel. Raphael paused on the threshold of Don's room, but didn't look back. He didn't drift off for hours.

There were two injuries the next time, both treated without question. The med kit was open. Both the tray of instruments and a sterile dressing in its plastic wrapper were laid out. Swab, swab, bandage; stitch, stitch, stitch, snip. Clack, thump, thump, thunk, swivel. Raphael paused on the threshold.

Sob.

He tried to turn but couldn't. He walked away and climbed into bed, but he didn't sleep that night.

It was the very next evening that Raphael returned to his brother's room. It was the same time as always, but there was a vital difference: he had not encountered anyone one his nightly stalk around New York City. Truth be told, his mind had been on other things.

It was that sound, that tiny little blip on the radar. It had never been there before, and as far as Raph was concerned it had not business being sounded at all. Don didn't cry. He had never cried. Even they were kids and his brothers would knock him over, accidently or not, he had never cried. Don bounced back. Not quite in the same exuberant literal bouncy style of Michealangelo, but he always got back on his feet, dusted himself off and was just enthralled to be included in his brothers' games. Don was strong physically, and illimitably strong emotionally. It couldn't have been a sob. It must have been a cough or something that Raph had heard wrong.

When he walked into his brother's room without part of his body needing stanched or stitched, Raphael didn't know what to say. The medical kit was laid out and Don was still awake. Raph stopped in his tracks. He did this every night. When was the last time he'd had to wake his brother up to get fixed? Donatello swivelled around in his chair and held out one hand for whatever appendage was injured. Raphael clenched his fists shut, then relaxed them again. He had no words.

Don's gaze flicked from his brother's arms to his legs, and then to his face. His brows drew closer together.

"Raphael?" He asked.

Raph met Don's gaze before casting his eyes to look over his brother's shoulder. The computer monitor was off. The tower wasn't showing any lights.

"Don, I…"

Don's eyes flickered for a moment. Then he turned around in the chair again: swivel. Raphael's throat was dry. He moved his lips aimlessly, before turning and leaving.

He did not linger on the threshold, but instead made as if to walk to his room. He flattened himself beside Donatello's bedroom door, remaining as still as the bricks that made the wall he leant on.

Sob.

That noise. Raphael pushed himself from the wall and strode back into Don's room. His brother was leaning on the computer desk, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook.

Sob.

Raphael dealt with the situation as delicately as he could.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

Donatello shot straight out of his chair and reached for the bo set carefully at the bottom of the bed. He spun around and struck a defensive pose just as the voice made a connection in his mind. His glassy eyes widened, and he lowered his weapon.

"Raph –"

"Are you _cryin_'?"

No response.

"Over _me_?"

Donatello replaced his bo it its place and sat back down on his chair, the back firmly towards Raphael. He did not appreciate that.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you," he said, and reached out to spin the chair around. Swivel. "I asked if you were cryin' over me."

Donatello kept his eyes level with Raphael's chest. Raphael gritted his teeth and thrust Don's chin up so his brother would meet his gaze.

"Well?"

There was a visible lump in Don's throat, and as hard as he tried, a single drop of salty moisture escaped from one eye.

"I don't need you t' cry over me, pal," Raph said. The words cut his throat like shruikens as they flew out. "Who the hell is that gonna help?"

Raphael grunted and let go of his brother's chin. He threw his arms up and laced his fingers at the back of his head as he turned away.

Mumble.

"What was that?"

Raphael turned back around. Don rose from his chair.

"I said, I wasn't crying over you, asshole."

"_Asshole_? Did you just call me an _asshole_?"

"Yeah, I did," Donatello said. "Assholes don't think about anyone else but themselves."

"Would you mind telling me what in the hell is your problem, bud?" Raph asked.

The syllables dripped like blood from his lips. They dropped onto the hard floor and shattered.

"Just get out," Don said. "Get the hell out of my bedroom. It's bad enough I have to see you in here at all hours ripped up and battered, never mind coming in here and swearing at me."

"Oh, pardon me," Raph said. "I wasn't the one who started slingin' insults, _asshole_."

"Just get out, get out!"

"Keep yer voice down, would'ja? You wanna wake up the whole sewer?"

As if scripted, Michaelangelo came running out from his own room.

"Dudes, shut up! What's – what the – Donnie?"

Tears were streaming afresh down Donatello's face. Straightening his back, he pushed past his brothers and exited towards the kitchen. Raphael watched as he left, and his heart fell further towards his feet when he finally came upon Michaelangelo's blazing eyes.

"What did you do, bro?" he asked, scrunching up his beak,

"I didn't do nothin'!" Raph answered. "Whiney-pants there just started yellin' and cryin' for some reason."

Mike clenched his teeth.

"If you bothered to stay awake during the day you might know what was goin' on with him, but you don't, _bro_."

"I ain't got time for this," Raphael said, turning on his heel. "Tell him he can apologise when he's good and ready."

He strode out of the room and down the corridor until he reached his own. He threw himself into the hammock. _This place is goin' fricken nuts_, he thought. It should have been his last thought before sleep, but again, rest would not come.

***

It wasn't too long before Raph couldn't stand lying down any more. Sleep was evading him; too much was going through his mind. He thumped down from the hammock and walked towards the kitchen for a snack.

Sob.

That damned sound again; it got him right between the eyes. He walked slower and paused before the corridor entered into the living area. He could see Mike on the sofa; he seemed to be rubbing something. That something on closer inspection was Don's arm. His face was buried in his hands again.

"I know, I know," Michaelangelo said softly.

Raph had never heard that tone from his brother before. It was so soothing; nothing compared to the usual outpourings of the cowabunga-screaming skateboarder.

"It's just too hard…I can't stand it any more."

"Leo'll be back soon, I know it."

"That won't make things better. Nothing will make this better."

"I know it seems that way now, bro, and…it's okay to feel like that for now. But I know that at least with Leo back, you can focus more on getting better."

Donatello dropped his arms and let out a snarling grunt.

"Yeah, right. Master Splinter said I was supposed to learn to be strong when my brothers are weak, and yet I'm the weak one, as always."

Mike stopped rubbing Don's arm and seemed to squeeze it.

"You aren't weak, Donnie. You're ill. That's what this is: an illness. You know it, deep down. When you're feeling a little better you'll be able to see that again. You have before, remember?"

Silence.

"Yeah," Don answered eventually. "I just don't have the strength to keep going Mikey. I can't keep up this tech job and worrying for Master Splinter, for Leo, for you, and especially for Raph any longer."

"Well, you don't need to worry about me, dude," Mike said with as wide a grin as he could muster. "With that giant head you made me, Cowabunga Carl is in no danger of being found out! Leo will come home soon, and he's safe; I know it. So don't worry about him either. And Master Splinter is fine. As for Raph… Well, we all worry about him. And you can quit the job. There are ways to deal with this and to control it. Once we get those pills, you'll be able to control the, what, sera-toenail stuff in your brain and you'll be feeling much better."

Don laughed quietly.

"Serotonin, Mikey," he said, sniffing. "It's just… It's hard to keep my head above water."

"I know, bro. But that's what I'm here for; your very own life preserver at your service twenty-four-seven!"

Don laughed again and wiped his face.

"Thanks, Mike," he said, and pulled his brother in for a hug. "You always know what to say."

"Hey, it's a first for me!"

The mood sobered a little as the brothers drew out of their hug, and Mike squeezed Don's shoulder again.

"I'll talk to Raph, tell him to – "

"No, please, don't," Don said, dropping his chin. "He won't understand. There's no point."

Something broke in Raphael's chest. It clinked and split straight down the middle. It all fell into place. _Oh, man, I am such an idiot_. He speedily retreated back to his bedroom. It was his turn to put his head in his hands.

***

The next time Raphael entered Donatello's room it was with a purpose beyond himself. Yes, he had been injured – very mildly. It probably wouldn't even need a bandage. That, however, was not the purpose. He strode across the threshold, his feet thunking on the floor. Swivel. Don held out his hand.

Raphael didn't sit down on the bed beside the laid out medical supplies and obediently hand over the injured limb. Instead, he went straight up to Donatello and knelt on the floor in front of the swivel chair. There were no lights from the computer or the monitor to reflect in Don's eyes. Nothing could disguise the confusion, and fear.

For the first time in over a decade, Raphael pulled his brother in for a hug, tightening his arms around Don's shell as hard as he could. Squeak. Splutter. Don's arms remained rigid, but Raph simply held on tighter and closed his eyes.

Sob.

Donatello collapsed into the embrace. Raphael gulped back the lump in his throat.

"S'okay, Donnie. I…I know."


End file.
